Eviction Notice
by AllyJames
Summary: Carol returns to her cell to find everything she owns is missing.


Disbelief first. Then anger, but Carol never could hold onto anger for very long. Hurt, though, she was good at. The sight of her bunk, previously tidy if sparse, now completely empty tore at the raw places inside of her and tears welled in her eyes. She folded her arms, rubbed them through her sleeves and stepped through the door, a muted "what?" on her lips.

None of them had much anymore. Everything that could truly be considered "theirs" was left behind as they fled the farm. They'd scavenged clothes and some supplies when they'd stopped for gas and with Lori in in no position to give her a judging look, Carol had taken what she wanted. It was stupid, childish even, but she only took bright colors, soft fabrics, creative necklines. Heavy boots were her only concession to her new life.

But then again, brights and tailored tops were part of a new life too. A red and black fuck you to the quiet desperation she had always thought was her due. Her pink sweater would get dirty. It wouldn't keep her nearly as warm as some of the frumpy knits she'd passed up, but it was hers. No one could tell her not to wear it. Carol couldn't explain how much that meant to her or how hard she had had to fight not to drop it all on the side of the road and run back for greys and browns.

They can't make her choices for her anymore. Apparently they can still take them away.

She checks under the bed, feeling stupid even as she does it, but too lost to make a better decision. There's nothing under, on, or trapped beside the bed. Her clothes. Her little sewing kit. The purple rhinestoned messenger bag that held them and the few toiletries and tools she'd been able to find. She dips a hand into her pocket, relieved that at least she's taken to always carrying the small knife Daryl gave her. It makes her feel safer than she would have thought and since she's needed more to feel safe than she would have thought…

Rick had told them to trust their new housemates. "It's a new world. We're all in this together. They were here first, what else are we going to do?" As if everyone's better nature had taken over at the end of the world. And after all, a couple burglars and a handful of addicts weren't exactly the biggest threat for people with nothing to steal and nothing to snort. Except that one of them was a murderer. Except for that tiny, barely significant detail. They're no different than we are.

Two of the girls they'd met up with on the road had been killed. They'd been working out in the gym and they'd been found there, Carol had heard, with body parts no longer attached. Daryl had been part of the clean-up crew and even he had looked shaken as he'd relayed the situation to her. Though, of course, he'd shaken off her concern. Then, because she was annoyed and so no one else would have to do it, Carol had turned a prison uniform into rags and scrubbed the blood from the floor.

It was the worst night's sleep she'd gotten since the first night they'd hit the road. She'd started crying and been unable to stop, burying her face in her pillow and trying not to wake anyone. Didn't they have enough to deal with already? Would it ever just stop? The dead walked and people still murdered each other.

And they stole a woman's clothes for a laugh.

Poking her head out of her cell, Carol looks up and down the block for any clues. No one is really around and her hand goes to her knife again. Her cell is close to the end of the hall, not separate from the group so much as… private. Her own space. "I don't need them. I don't want to intrude. I've never lived alone." Carol had told herself each reason in turn as she'd chosen the room, feeling alternatively defiant and rejected and by the time she'd started to get over all that it seemed too late to move. Even Daryl lived closer to the group than she did, at the other end of the hall.

Slowly, keeping an eye out for her t-shirts or a wild-eyed murderer, Carol tiptoes down the hall. Shivers skitter down her spine and up her arms and her heart pounds even though there's no danger in sight. Funny how something so small could make your whole world feel sideways. She'd finally had something that was completely hers. Why would anyone-

She stops.

The pink sweater she left folded on her bed is hanging from the bars of another cell. It feels like a trap, but Carol approaches it anyway. As her fingers clutch the fabric, her eyes scan the tiny room and, and sure enough, there are the rest of her things. Her bag is sitting on the top bunk on top of a crookedly arranged blanket that surely wasn't in the vacant cell yesterday.

As she pulls open the door, it creaks and sticks a little like it isn't quite on its track. No bombs explode and no one emerges from the shadows. Her stuff is just inexplicably here and it's so bizarre that Carol wonders if she moved it herself and then suffered a memory lapse. She decides, hesitantly, cautiously, to take her bag and… leave? She should probably leave. It's a little too weird to stay in a room your clothes have chosen for you. Even if it is less secluded, less drafty, and less easily approached by psychotic slashers.

Turning to go, she almost collides with a group back from patrolling the fences. Rick nods to her and passes by. Glenn smiles, points at the bag in her arms and asks, "You moving?"

Usually it's impossible not to smile back at Glenn, but her confusion keeps a small frown on her face. Carol shakes her head and says, "Um. I don't know. I wasn't planning to. Someone moved my stuff."

"Really?" Glenn's confusion reinforces her own. "Who'd do that?"

She shakes her head.

"That's really weird."

"I know."

"Well say something if anything else weird happens. We've gotta look out for each other, you know?"

After securing her promise that of course she'll speak up, Glenn continues down the hall, disappearing a few doors down into the room he and Maggie share. It's only after he leaves that Carol notices the other returning patrolman. Daryl leans against the railing that overlooks the center square of the prison and he's biting his nails.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Yes. Just confused."

Daryl lifts his chin toward the cell behind her, "Maybe you should stay."

"What?"

He shrugs, "You wouldn't be over there on your own. Plus that creaky-ass door'd wake you up if anyone tried to open it up."

And then she knows. Daryl's looking at her, but he won't meet her eyes. He has one hand at his mouth and another tucked under the opposite arm, revealing everything he's trying not to give away. Daryl moved her things. Daryl thought she was too isolated. Daryl wants her to be safe.

Carol's pissed, underneath it all. He could have said something. He didn't have to scare the hell out of her to get her to move. She would have been so charmed that he cared enough to mention it that she might have moved even if she wasn't already afraid. Not to mention the way he'd treated her when _she'd_ been the one suggesting that he not stay so far away from everyone at the farm. But Daryl's trying not to look hopeful and trying not to look at her and warm fuzzies are filling her chest and Carol has to fight a smile.

"Maybe. I don't know. I'm a pretty heavy sleeper. And someone brought my stuff here on purpose. They want me here. It doesn't really feel safe."

"You think they got a tunnel dug in the walls? You're safer here than over there."

"You think so?"

"Sleeping in the middle of everybody with a gun instead of the middle of nowhere? Yeah. Glenn, Rick and T are all down there." A beat. "And I'm right here."

Now Carol can't keep the corner of her mouth from curling into a smile. "You're right," she says. "I guess I do feel safer here. Maybe I'll stay."

"I'll send you a housewarming present."

There's nothing left to say that won't give everything away so they nod goodbye. As he leaves, Daryl does as poor a job hiding his satisfaction as he did hiding everything else. Carol hugs her bag to her chest and manages to wait until he's gone before letting the grin break out all over her face.


End file.
